Our Stories

I often think about the animal documentaries that I like to watch, where the pack keeps moving as stragglers fall behind and eventually are left behind altogether to survive (or not) alone. Seeing scenes like this makes me reflect on how humans, with their level of intelligence and complex body organization, are capable of a great moral capacity that ensures that no stragglers get left behind. This reflection is not made to suggest that the disabled cannot survive - we have adapted with innovation, often on our own, and brilliantly survived this whole time. Nor does the reflection purport an anthropocentric view where animals are “less than” humans; instead it’s a musing on the particularities of human capacity and purpose - that humans are in charge of caring for one another and are capable of doing so in unique, creative ways. And caring for one another means taking concrete steps to ensure that “that one” (even if it’s truly only one!) is not left behind in a classroom. To cater to the majority of the students as a default with the thought “well, it’s just one disabled student” (subconsciously or not) is a moral failing that underpins disability injustice.  
 
Toward that end of caring for one another, inclusion is multifaceted: it looks like always factoring in a disabled student’s (or faculty / staff) needs as a conscious priority in order to ensure that the playing field is as level as possible, and to do so without assumptions - what a skeptic misassumes as “advantageous” may actually be what truly levels the playing field for the student. Inclusion ensures that the burden does not fall on the said student or teacher to figure out everything themselves, on how to survive alone as stragglers. Sometimes they don’t know what their own needs are or whether or not it is safe to speak up, so inclusion invites participation in a relationship, a fearless one with abundant, intelligent collaboration (and the more communal, the better!). Finally, inclusion looks like hiring faculty and staff with disabilities because representation makes an impact. I had a teacher with a disability at KSU for the first time ever in over a few decades of schooling, much to my astonishment. With grace, the professor educated the students about their disability on the first day of class and modeled for me throughout the semester what it's like to lead with an unhidden disability. Experiencing this professor led me to untapped courage that I didn’t know I had before. 
 
I’ll be real - inclusion does require an investment, an investment of time (slowing down, asking questions, etc.), resources such as financial means or hired workers, sorting prioritizations, and so on - and while I often don’t state absolutes, to claim that time or XYZ resources do not exist, is simply a myth when humans have great capacity for problem solving. Humans have gone to the moon, proving that society is capable of going great, exhausting lengths - the question then, is what is our priority? To not invest in students (including faculty and staff) with challenges as a priority is to not invest in society. For schools to bet on students on the underside is to get the greatest return on investment for society - inclusion that ensures success for each in school means more workers and members of society who can contribute to reshaping our society in ingenious, thoughtful ways.

I make things look easy and breezy as a deaf student (as a survival strategy, not something to brag about), which makes it easy for teachers, students, disability coordinators, etc. to forget about my ongoing needs. Over time, self advocacy creates the danger of being misperceived as “incessantly demanding” and becomes a solo burden. And sometimes the push for students’ self advocacy in schools can be misused as a tool to alleviate others from the work, responsibility, and moral courage it takes to be inclusive. That’s why I’m a believer in schools better investing in their campus disability offices, hiring faculty and staff with disabilities as well as designing courses, training, resources, and the campus grounds with thoughtful care to account for every possible scenario before it occurs - even if it doesn’t actually come into fruition. It’s better to be innovative, leading the way for other schools, and noted for forward-thinking than not at all.

I wish that people knew that the disability community is not a tragic, “inspirational” monolith; it’s filled with a spectrum of normal human experiences. While the disabled are bound as a community by the nature of “disability,” no one’s journey is like the other’s. For instance, as a deaf person I enjoy taking out my aids that help me hear, and sink into silence. I describe it as if I’m dropping below the surface of water - it induces that same tranquil feeling. I wouldn’t trade this ability to ground myself with silence for anything - yet another disabled person on a different journey may not feel the same way about their bodies, which does not make their experience more or less valid or right versus wrong. I wish people could guard against their tendency to make stories about one another, filling in the blanks with assumptions that “fit”; the human experience is a vastly rich, messy landscape that invites humble inquiry and exploration, and ultimately acceptance of the unknown.

Inclusion looks like meeting everyone’s needs with no stigma, shame, or being made to feel like a burden.  
 
Inclusion is having facilities and protocols ready for people with disabilities, not added as an afterthought or simply because it’s legally required.  
 
Inclusion is realizing that mental health conditions are as real as physical ones. 
 
Inclusion is supporting all members of the Kennesaw State community in a way that allows them to thrive as students, faculty, and staff. 

I have good days and I have bad days. I have mental health disorders including anxiety, panic disorder, depression, and ADHD, and each day is a little different for me. I utilize a combination of coping skills, prescription medications, and talk therapy to manage my disorders from day to day. 
 
On the bad days, I have racing thoughts and stay busy so I can fight off a panic attack until I can finish teaching my classes. On the good days, I get a glimpse of what it’s like to live without these disorders. I can focus and think clearly. I can finish tasks without being too distracted or anxious to complete them. 
 
How I cope with my disability as a faculty member looks a lot like how I coped as a student. When I am having a good day, I try to maximize what I get done and not take that time for granted. Sometimes that means I send emails at weird hours (If you are one of my students, you know what I mean!) or that I’m in my office late because I can focus at that time. I’ve curated a calming space in my office where clutter is hidden away so I can focus. I try to put things on my calendar as soon as I schedule them because I know I will forget. I make lists of tasks for motivation and so I won’t be as anxious about completing them.

I wish people were more aware of and understanding of invisible disabilities. Most days my disability is invisible to others, but that doesn’t make it any less real. I’ve been told that my mental health conditions weren’t real, that I could just “think differently” and that I would feel better. Over the years I’ve had family members, acquaintances, coworkers, and even some health professionals doubt my mental health conditions. I’ve felt very isolated at times because I can’t look around and identify someone with depression or panic disorder to know I’m not alone. I want to be that example for my coworkers and for my students.  
 
I want anyone reading this and thinking “Wow, that sounds like me.” to realize you are not alone.

Inclusion to me looks like a community or group that is accepting and willing to learn about others’ differences. Inclusion to me is when everyone is included in all aspects of life despite their differences. Inclusion is when no one is left out or feels like a burden because of their differences. Inclusion to me is making everyone feel welcomed and heard.

From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep I have to regulate and monitor my blood sugar. I have to check my blood sugar regularly through a app on my phone to make sure that it is in a normal healthy range. Every time I eat, I have to measure my food and calculate the number of carbohydrates in order to give myself the correct dosage of insulin.

One thing I wish people knew about Type 1 Diabetes is that even the smallest error can lead to big effects. Giving yourself too much or too little insulin can have life threatening consequences on one’s health. Living with Type 1 Diabetes you have to constantly make sure your blood sugar is perfect.

Inclusion looks like everyone having an equal seat at the table. As disability rights activist, Judy Heumann, said "If I have to be thankful for an accessible bathroom, when am I ever gonna be equal in the community?" 
Disabled people deserve to be just as included in everyday life as much as abled bodied people do.

As someone with multiple disabling chronic illnesses, everyday looks different for me. Sometimes I need to use a mobility aid or need to be nourished through my feeding tube. I also take many medications every day to keep my conditions controlled. What I want people to know is that everyday I have pain and fatigue that I have to push through and sometimes I need to use equipment to help me with that, and that's okay. I am not more or less disabled based on whether I use my wheelchair or feeding tube or not.

I wish people knew that disability is isolating. For me, I spend hours each week at the hospital either getting infusions or going to appointments. I sometimes have to miss going to social events because of my symptoms. And I have different priorities that many others my age because of my disability. If you know someone who's disabled, reach out, they might need some extra support or just a kind word.